They call him the garden gnome,
Oversees all debris that is thrown,
He wanders through planes of torment,
For his soul is forever dormant,
Wading through mushy soil and turf,
Listless and senseless – alone in this earth,
He peers knowingly over his picket fence,
Years of lost hope the feeling grows intense,
Watching out for incursions into his plot,
He has been isolated and long forgot,
Blades of grass ripple to reflect his insanity,
Noone but him to witness this calamity,
All but one friend coming into sight,
The badger roaming his garden come night,
But again comes the sun and he is alone at dawn,
Longing for the day when the gnome is reborn.

My lovely sister helped me write this one 🙂

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